Gravitation
by Eve Woods
Summary: Jason x Dick, Bart x Tim x Kon AU: Part I: Dick leaves the Batfam, not as Nightwing, cutting off contact with everyone. Can Jason find him and convince him to come home? Part II: after a run-in with a villain in Jump City, Tim and a few new friends decide to make their own team.
1. Chapter 1

A/N okay, so this fic is completely AU (I know I'm ignoring my other fic; I lost interest in it for the moment…but I'll probably pick it back up later). Damian isn't exactly my favorite character, do he's a pretty minor character. I have it where Dami, Tim and Jason are still with Batman. Dick has become Nightwing very recently even though the other batboys tried to stop him. Now even though he's still fighting crime, he stays well away from the Bats and his prodigies—who are looking for him; well, mostly Dami and Timmy. Jason is too, but he's more serious about it and doesn't include the others in case they get hurt.

…moving on. I'm probably going to incorporate Selina in there somewhere. And Bruce, Bruce is kind of sulking in his own little way at the loss of Dick. Alfred knows that they all screwed up, and he's not sure what the outcome's going to be, but he does want Dick home again. Ages: Dick (19), Jason (17), Timmy (15), Dami (12). I know they're not right, but just go with it.

Enjoy the sick!

Dick felt like shit, both emotionally and physically. He'd left them—because that's all they were to him now, nameless strangers—feeling sick anyhow, and the stress that went with going solo sucked ass. Not only that, but he hadn't eaten anything that day because his head kept ringing and HE'd been stressing Dick out about finishing a new mission in less than a day.

Now, after fighting crime on the streets for a week, he was beginning to wear. Not in the "I'm giving up lets be stupid" wear, just the "I need to sleep more than thirty minutes straight" wear. He was still strong and thinking clearly—well, as clearly as he could without 1) giving his position away to Dami and Timmy, who were actually on his track (how they'd managed that he didn't even WANT to know) and 2), that ringing in his head had grown a lot stronger, so thinking clearly without falling undefensive.

He crouched. While the rain made travel a little difficult, seeing as he already had other handicaps, he'd found a tall building with a reflective-glass rooftop, and was now hovering on the edge of it. Less than an inch forward and straight down from there, the city hummed with life. He wondered why NYC had dubbed themselves the city that never sleeps when Gotham oh-so-obviously fit the expression much better.

Maybe he would sleep here, even. After all, he had no money, and while it wasn't likely, he had to assume there were cops looking out for Dick Grayson, son of Bruce Wayne. Anyways, paparazzi always managed to find him even in the darkest places (it was useful, on occasion, how insanely accurate the press was in guessing their victim's location), so there would be no use venturing the streets as a civilian. Plus, even if he was soaked to the bone and numb in most places, for some reason he was oddly comfortable. Probably the height. He looked down.

Yeah, definitely the height.

"Never imagined I'd find you up here, Dickie-bird." Ro—Nightwing froze. The last person he wanted to find him, aside from Alfr—that man's butler, and the man himself. "Cold, dark and high up? Uncharacteristic today, aren't we?"

Dick chose to remain silent. While he wasn't certain, Jason may go away just by getting bored with the lull in interaction. Then again, he just may make things quicker by shooting Dick in the foot and physically dragging him back to the cave. Plus, his vision was blurry and black in some places, and he really didn't want to move.

"What," Jason asked, before thinking of a certain burglar and deciding to quote. "Cat got your tongue?" Dick bit his tongue, just light of drawing blood. He didn't turn, he didn't speak. He wasn't feeling like a Grayson anymore. Happy feelings gone, warm expression just barely visible behind the mask and hurt. "Dickie-bird." No reaction. "Dick." Just stay still. "DICK!" Jason apparently had gotten tired of feeling like he was talking to a wall. Nightwing felt Jason grip his shoulder and gasp in surprise when he got a lapful of the other, falling against the mirror-like glass. "Dick, what the HELL!"

Jason had almost thrown the boy off. Almost. But then, just for a minute, he didn't see Dick Grayson, the enigma hiding behind a mask of sarcasm and sharp comments, nor Robin, the sidekick that stayed just out there enough to be forgotten once you looked away, but never when he was there. He saw a very pale, very wounded nineteen year-old struggling to break the bonds that still circulated the guilt and pain of his old life, while trying to attach himself to a new one—one that wasn't his. He froze. Nightwing, a lone soldier with no family and no friends and no reputation, was barely conscious. He was obviously still a member of the bat family, Jason could see clearly, no matter how much the other tried to deny it or rip himself away from them. Yeah, he was definitely still meant to fill up that dark, blue-and-black room nestled between Dami and Tim's rooms, and his own while they were at it. But he wasn't Robin—there was nothing left to him there.

Yet, somehow, nothing had changed about him. Jason knew Dick thought he was hardened now—but he wasn't even close. Jay had seen people hardened by the violence and misery of the street, and he wasn't staring at one. No, Grayson was still that warm, loving, caring older-brother figure that remained calm even when the batman himself was edgy, and was sure of himself even as everyone else told him to act otherwise. He was still the person who had slept with Timmy for a week when they'd had a long bout of lightning storms, and the only person in the world who Dami would look at and not see as a cruel-prank victim. And he was still the person, no matter how much he tried not to be, that had coaxed Jason out of the corner of his own bedroom and allowed him to crush boy-wonder in a long hug, eventually carrying him to his bed and falling asleep there, above the covers, rubbing Jason's head softly and whispering comforting words as he dealt with his nightmares of the streets. Nothing had changed the way he bottled his pain and channeled it into helping his siblings stay rooted, stay safe, or the way he was still the same person that convinced Batman—fucking BATMAN—to take in the kid trying to steal his wheels and protect.

Jason sat there on the roof, Dick's now unconscious body resting like a puzzle piece with his own. The milky white forehead was burning, the white-locked fighter discovered, and he flashed back to the first time he had been sick.

It was two weeks after Bats had taken him in. He was still being rude to Alfred, who took it in stride for some odd reason and ruffled his hair at every competent remark (along with muttered, 'reminds me of the old times with Bruce'). He still refused to talk to Bruce, period. Even though he knew Bruce was Batman, and how terrified he should be of the masked vigilante. And every time Dick would come at him with a smile and a tray of oreos in that annoying, I'm-not-an-enemy way, Jason would punch or kick (or, on an off day, bite) him.

He'd woken up feeling rotten. Even so, he'd dragged himself out of bed and to the television room, integrating himself into the plush couch and holing up there until the day was gone and the dark of night fell. By then, he'd fallen asleep with blurry vision and a migraine, still sprawled over the cushions.

One of his nightmares of living on the streets had happened, the first of many. The way Alfred and Bruce told it—because no one could trust Dick to give himself full credit to anything, I repeat ANYTHING—Dick came in and just held him quietly as if it were the most normal thing in the world. That he'd sat there with his arms around Jason's smaller form comfortingly, tracing the lines of the shirt on his back, humming softly in his young alto tone. Then, when Jason had stopped thrashing around in his hold, Bruce said that the golden boy had picked him up and carried him to his bedroom, sitting there with him the entire night so he could comfort Jason every time the nightmares picked back up.

Jason had woken up the mooring after feeling much better than he had in years. On his bedside table had been a tray with flu medicine, a glass of water, and warm chicken noodle soup (Alfred did take credit for that, making a very Alfred rap on the head when Jason said it had been a little salty). Since that point, Jason had grown on Batman, been more polite to Alfred, and had even stopped kicking Dick (he still punched from time to time, even at his current age).

Now that he thought about it, Dick had always cared for everyone in the Bat household. There had even been a very awkward moment when Jason walked in on Dick hugging Bruce, who was still in costume, even though both of their expressions were neutral and the air silent of words.

They had never actually seen Dick break until his fight with Batman. Maybe that was why everyone had been so…disoriented by it. Grayson had been the gravity for them, always so modest and dependable. They…had never helped him. Hell, Jason previously doubted that the birdie could even HAVE an emotional breakdown.

That was why Bruce obviously didn't want Dick to leave. It would feel too much like abandonment, and anyways, they all needed him. He knew that. Now all they deeded to do was convince him that he needed them.

Which they did. Jason would prove it to him. That was a promise.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow...it's really been a while, huh? Sorry D: at first, I kind of tucked this story into the back of my mind and focused on my other fic. But then later I found a few plot ideas on my iPod and it motivated me to write a second chapter (after this, I'll edit the first one...for the grammar/plot changes).**

**So, changes-I don't know why I hated Damian so much last year (actually though) but the ideas that I have _definitely _include him. So here's the age changes:**

**Damian-23**

**Jason-21**

**Dick-19**

**Tim-17**

**A little out of order, I know. Also, I'm aware that a)Damian is normally the youngest and b)in instances where Damian _isn't_, Dick usually _is_. So just to change things up a little I made Timmy the baby bird :P And for those of you who are wondering if there might be a side of Tim/Damian later on..._maybe_. I'm still kind of debating on how weird that would be to write.**

**And while this is a Dick/Jason story, this is going to be majorly about all of the Robins and how they interact with each other. This isn't going to happen for every chapter, but for the first two I have it alternating between each brother (first it was Dick, then Jason, and now Tim and Dami).**

**Just in case anyone was confused, the order of who became Robin is different than the age (hence why Dick was there before Jason in chpt. 1). It's: Dami, Dick, Jason, Tim.**

**Again, sorry for such a late update! Don't be afraid to review and tell me what you think :)**

**xxx,**

**Eve**

* * *

Tim felt sick. He'd _known _where Dick was the entire time, and hadn't said anything to Jason until last night. On a completely unrelated matter, the night where Jason_ had yet to return from patrol_. He'd been missing for almost seven hours now, and Tim had been awake for all of them. He'd solved three different cases and then consumed over four different kinds of caffeine from various countries across Europe. After finishing off those, he'd then organized his room (for the third time that night) and triple-checked his homework. He'd gone through the case-clean-homework cycle three times going on four.

He couldn't help it. Damian had left at four in the morning without so much as a second thought, and, seeing as Bruce was holed up in the batcave in the middle of distracting himself from the gaping hole in his family, no one had stopped him. Not even Alfred, who just wanted Dick home and safe where they could all apologize.

Tim had found out the alley where Dick was cooped up the day after he left the bat family, but fear and inability kept him from doing anything about it. He didn't want to get there only to find that either Dick had tricked him or that he _was_there, and would drop off of the face of the earth after discovering that someone knew his location. Plus, Batman now only allowed Tim to patrol with him, instead of going out with Jason or Damian, which made visiting next to impossible anyway. Not to mention how aggressively watchful his brothers were; questioning where he was going every time he motioned to leave the room.

But that was no excuse. He _should've _been there for Dick. He could've done something. He could've stopped Bruce from yelling, stopped Dick from leaving. After all, they'd seen it coming. It wasn't like no one could feel the tension the past two weeks, every time the pair disagreed on something. It was like there was electricity in the air-and now that Dick was actually gone, the dangerous feeling had only risen.

Everyone had reacted differently, Tim noticed. For one, Jason was home a lot less. He was probably out searching for their missing brother (another reason why Tim should've told him where Dick was) or drinking now that he was of legal age, or whipping out the costume and using it as an excuse to drive excessively over the speed limit. Damian had holed himself up at first, like Bruce, but brooded less. Instead, he became flamboyantly irritable, snapping at anyone who dared rupture the silence he'd coated the room in. Bruce, well, Bruce just did what he did best and kept himself distracted with the company (and the women who wanted to be a part of it) and solving cases-not that Tim could blame him. Alfred seemed to be the only one who'd kept his sanity, and even that seemed to be waning lately. For example, two nights ago Tim had asked Alfred if there were any cookies left and Alfred had responded with a resolute: "Perhaps if you made them yourself, Master Timothy, instead of eating them, there would be." Before apologizing tiredly and offering to bake some. Seeing the butler angry had been one of the two most terrifying moments in his life (the first being when Jason took him out for a joy ride on his new motorcycle, which was just plain scarring).

And Tim couldn't help but think, 'Dick would have known what to do right now', or, 'I wish Dick were here to help.' He loved his family-really, he did-but they just weren't...openly a family. If you put them all in a family restaurant waiting room, no one would recognize that they were all one group. They all loved each other, even if they sucked at showing it, but that was the point-they _didn't show it_. Dick was always there to talk, to hang out, to offer advice. He was the only one who would both give and receive physical contact like hugs or pats on the backs without looking physically ill. And he was the only one who smiled brightly, because while Alfred's smiles were certainly heartwarming, they just weren't the same.

He missed his family, but there was nothing he could do about it. And he hated it.

* * *

Damian felt annoyance coil in the pit of his stomach, and it had nothing to do with the suspiciously smooth vodka he gripped tightly in his hand.

_So, _he thought bitterly. _Leaving me alone with the brat. How becoming, Todd. _He took another gulp. The alcohol did nothing to inhibit his awareness or self-consciousness. In fact, it barely affected him at all, another joy of being raised in a household where you were expected to hold your own under any circumstances. They probably could have slipped rufies into his drink and it would not have affected him. Before, he had always taken pride in this. Now, he wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse.

He wondered where Todd flew off to, and then realized that he was, in all cases, with Grayson. And that if he were with the idiot, then he would go to the safe house the three of them had set up under Bruce's radar, just in case. Especially if Grayson were wounded or sick, of which there was almost a certain guarantee.

It was almost too simple. He wondered briefly if Grayson had snuck into it the night he left, snickering to himself at his brothers' stupidity. He snarled, loudly, at the thought and the woman sitting a seat away shot him a frightened look before retreating to a farther chair. He knew if he left now, before tweedle dum and tweedle dummer did something stupid, he would be able to convince them both to return home. And if worse came to worse, he was stronger than both of them combined and could knock them out and retrieve the bodies. Plus, even if it took an ample amount of time, no one in particular would notice his absence. Bruce was too busy brooding in the cave and Drake was probably cleaning his room for the tenth time.

Content with his plan, he slammed a meticulously crisp Benjamin on the counter and stood up, ignoring the fearful looks he received, storming out of the bar with determination and sliding into a conspicuous mercedes. Revving the engine several more times than necessary, he slammed on the acceleration before jetting into the street with an arrogant, powerful smirk.

But underneath it all, he was fading. He felt more tired than he usually did, the energy leaving his body just as Grayson left Batman. Being Batman at all for Damian had become routine, a ritual that would be completed whether he enjoyed it or found it dull, and it was depleting him of the little happiness he found himself able to retain. He didn't like admitting it, but there were qualities Grayson possessed that the rest of them did not, and it made him a vital component to their family. He was reminded of the second night Bruce had brought the acrobat home. He'd been scared, wide-eyed, and flighty-it had taken nearly two hours before Damian had been able to corner him. But upon realizing that the older boy had not been there to induce harm, Dick had run right up and gripped him tightly, tearing up before sobbing loudly and then full-out wailing for his parents. Damian knew what it was like to feel as though one's world had been taken away all too soon, and had been surprisingly quick to wrap his arms around the boy, pick him up, and carry him to his bedroom where they proceeded to sleep through two days' worth sleep.

The memory, sentimental as it was, felt bittersweet in light of Grayson's recent absence. And that was _not_ okay.

_I'm finding you both,_ he thought,_ and I'm bringing you home if it's the last thing I do._


End file.
